


Stay

by Ashida



Series: A Series of Unfortunate One Shots [23]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Character Study, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:33:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7837768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida/pseuds/Ashida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one shot in where Akihito, for once, understands that Asami's actions speak louder than words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> My take on their relationship that has been written a thousand times with varying likeness in the fandom. Written 24/04/2015 and put in the junkyard pile. I'm going over my old work and decided that this wasn't so bad after all. Look out for a few old stories that I hope to re post soon.

How did it end up like this?

 

Akihito asked himself that question every single time he found himself getting out of bed at Asami’s penthouse after being dragged back to the damn place.

 

And every time; he used his will alone to ignore the ache in his muscles and crawl out from under the too expensive sheets and scrabble around for his clothing so he could get out, far away back to his own bed with the scratchy sheets and the squeak in that one corner of the mattress that woke him up if he shifted too much in the night.

 

That question was like a routine thought process to him now, part of the never ending loop they went through, the fighting, the struggle to say out loud he didn’t want this, the struggle keep denying to himself that he _did_ want this, living in this constant limbo of contradictory turbulence.

 

It always started off with the same thing too, fighting Asami and himself at the same time. Telling yourself you didn’t need air while your lungs screamed for breath was the worst state in which to live. The body never lied, but the mind could play nasty, nasty tricks.

 

And so around and around they went, this sequence of events where he’d be stripped of everything and end up back here. In a way it was good. If all the choices were taken from him, then he didn’t have to make any himself.

 

In the end though, that was just another form of escape.

 

He’d escape for that short time while he got what he really wanted, the high in the cycle, the peak where he could forget about the abyss mocking him on either side for all his feigned denial.

 

Forced to forget so he could sink into it and get his fix of much needed air, because they both knew that he had to breathe eventually.

 

The high could only last so song, and the come down was always wretched.

 

Like the back of his hand; he knew this penthouse. Knew the chest at the end of the bed and exactly how many steps to take in the dark to find his shoes so he didn’t smash his little toe on the corner. The dresser was right by the doorway, and you always had to go a certain amount around it to avoid catching your hipbone on the edge and making a huge racket as you cursed at your sore toe _and_ hip.

 

Every single time he snuck out like an unwilling intruder from the place he knew so well, asking himself the same question. How did it end up like this?

 

More like _why_ did it end up like this?

 

At this point he wasn’t even sure of the exact question, but it all came down to one thing; he was getting what he wanted in the end, wasn’t he?

 

So he asked himself those questions again this time around as he tried to glare at the ceiling in the dark – slowly building up the will to throw his feet out from under the sheets, find the cold floor and start his practiced escape routine.

 

It was harder each time too, but he always managed to pull something out from somewhere, so like every other time he got one last rush, he took a deep breath to fill his lungs with that life giving oxygen and held onto it, because he didn’t know how long it would be until he’d get his next one.

 

 _Time to go._ He told himself as he pushed those stupidly soft, comfortable sheets off. Something happened then though, that made this time different to every other time.

 

Unfamiliar warmth entwined itself in between his fingers, anchoring him where he lay.

 

“Stay.”Asami’s hand squeezed his own as the man mumbled into his pillow, he didn’t let go.

 

This routine dissolved around that word; _stay._

Never before had Asami said anything as he left, maybe this time Akihito’s procrastination had woken him up, he couldn’t think of anything worse.

 

Absolutely immobile, Akihito lay dumb struck with the darkness muting his awkward silence even has his body wished for the blankets back. Then, it happened again, Asami squeezed his hand and locked his fingers in place with silent reassurance. “There’s no need to slink off, Akihito.” Came the whisper, he was more awake now, but other than his hand Asami hadn’t moved an inch.

 

“Stay.” Asami squeezed again.

 

And Akihito almost laughed then, because out of everything Asami could do but would never, out of all the things Asami could say but wouldn’t ever, of all the thing he’d already done and said, Akihito found it funny that holding hands would mean the most out of it all.

 

This is what he’d been waiting for all this time, this miniscule action that gave him an answer to all his questions. Without saying a word, Akihito pulled the blankets back greedily with his free hand, and in the darkness next to him Asami chuckled, warm and amused. “You better not be a blanket hog.”

 

All Akihito could do was sputter in indignation until he gave up, holding Asami’s hand under the blanket still.

 

“Go to sleep.” Asami hummed, “and I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Yeah.” Akihito managed, realizing how tired he was. The only thing he knew as sleep finally took him was that Asami still hadn’t let go of his hand.

 


End file.
